


Sometimes Fires Don't Go Out

by abrighteryellow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, American AU, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Baggage, Feelings, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, James is everyone's dad, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Music Store, Older Harry, One Big Happy Family, Secret Crush, The 90s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:38:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrighteryellow/pseuds/abrighteryellow
Summary: With a corporate chain eyeing their town’s ragtag independent record store, Harry and his coworkers have one day to come up with a way to save their jobs – and possibly mend some hearts in the process. Featuring unrequited love, the best and worst of the mid-’90s, and one long-suffering James Corden.





	Sometimes Fires Don't Go Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimmieRocks/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIMMIE.
> 
> I cannot imagine my life without our friendship. I feel 100% braver with you by my side, which is probably why our adventures are legendary. You shine so brightly and work so hard, and it makes me SO HAPPY to see your talents being appreciated. I hope this makes you smile.
> 
> I hated not being able to tell you about it, and was sure I would slip and expose myself at some point. So this may be my first and last secret project.
> 
> I am so grateful to [yeah_alright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeah_alright/pseuds/yeah_alright) and [disgruntledkittenface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface) for holding my hand through this and making it better with every suggestion. They are also filthy liars and you shouldn't trust any of us.

“Empire Records, open till midnight,” Niall says into the phone, balancing the receiver between his ear and shoulder.

He pulls the cash drawer from the register, as the voice on the other end of the call asks the question he hears far too often. Doesn’t anyone _listen_ to each other any more?

“...Midnight,” he answers, not even trying to keep the disdain out of his voice. He glances at the digital clock next to the receipt printer. “Which was five minutes ago. Bye-bye, please call again.”

Resting the cash drawer against his hip, Niall hangs up the phone. One more task completed.

James asked him to close the store tonight. True, Louis had a debate tournament and Grimmy had a hot date and Zayn worked the early shift and Shawn still has a curfew and Harry closed the last three nights. But Niall was still chosen, trusted with the greatest responsibility of his young life.

And he’s not going to let James down.

Whistling the new Smashing Pumpkins single, he makes his way to the back, stopping only to put his lips to his fingers and then drop that kiss onto his favorite cardboard cutout of Liz Phair.

He pushes through the double doors, then takes a right instead of his usual left. The count-out room is dark, and a good five degrees colder than the rest of the store. Plus, its card table and metal folding chair are hardly appropriate for a job as important as this one or an employee as reliable as Niall. That’s what he’s thinking when he eases into his boss’s padded desk chair and hits “Play” on his personal stereo, the one under the Post-It that says, “Do not touch unless your name is James.”

Better Than Ezra’s “Good” fills the room, and Niall feels like the king of his tiny domain.

“Lookin’ around the house,” he sings along, shuffling bills and rubber-banding them in hundred-dollar increments. “Hidden behind the window and the door…”

He takes his time, breaking to drum a solo on James’s desk with his fingers before he embarks on his second count. He’ll stay here as long as he needs to, as long as it takes to be completely accurate. Niall wonders what kind of praise will be lavished on him tomorrow for performing so perfectly. He hopes it won’t make any of his colleagues and friends jealous, though, he supposes, there’s no avoiding it.

The pounding may have been going on for longer, but Niall first hears it as he’s zipping the day’s earnings into the designated canvas bag. Frowning, he turns the volume dial down, and there it is again – someone knocking insistently on the front door. He hasn’t shut the sign off yet, so “Open Till Midnight” is literally emblazoned in neon above the store. Either this person can’t read or they’re having some kind of music emergency. Either way, they’re disrupting a crucial process.

Niall pushes out a sigh and gets up, preparing to send a probably drunken record collector on his way. He picks up the bag and hesitates, unsure if it’s safer to carry it with him or just leave it in the back. He decides to leave it, ultimately, just in case this visitor is a criminal planning to knock him out and steal the deposit.

She looks vaguely familiar, though, Niall thinks as he gets closer to the glass doors. Behind them is a harried young woman – her eyes light up in relief when she sees him.

“We’re closed,” Niall says loudly, sure she can hear him through the locked door. “Do you see the sign? You’ll have to come back tomorrow, okay? Sorry.”

“Wait!” she calls, as he starts to turn his back. “Wait, I need to drop something off, please.” Hair falling into her face, the woman digs into her purse, frantically searching for something. She finds it, and slaps the business card against the glass so Niall can read it.

“I’m Mr. Cowell’s assistant? Caroline? I was supposed to come by earlier but it completely slipped my mind. I was already home in bed when I finally remembered. Please, it’s just some paperwork. He’s going to _kill_ me if James doesn’t have this in the morning.”

Niall considers her – the absence of makeup, the dot of toothpaste in the corner of her mouth, the satin sleep shirt peeking out from under her trench coat. And he may be a busy man, but let it never be said that he doesn’t have a heart.

Shaking his head, he pulls a rubber coil keychain off his wrist, slots the key into the padlock, and turns it. A grateful smile spreads across Caroline’s face as she watches him unwrap the chain from around the handles, then crack the door just enough to retrieve the papers from her.

“Thank you,” she gushes, voice clearer now without the barrier between them. She’s shoving a manila folder at him. “The Music Town franchise agreement has to be signed and notarized by tomorrow or the whole thing will fall through. The whole thing! Can you imagine? If the deal was ruined because I couldn’t do my stupid job?”

Niall takes the folder from her in what he hopes is a calm manner.

“I’m sure you do your job just fine, ma’am. Mr. Cowell’s just working you too hard.”

Caroline smiles genuinely at the almost-compliment, the tension in her face smoothing out. He feels sorry for her, stuck in an office every day with that philistine. A philistine and now, a sell-out.

“I’ll make sure James gets this,” Niall says, because it’s really not her fault. Caroline raises a hand in farewell, then scurries back out to the parking lot, her clogs scraping along the pavement.

Niall waits and watches until she’s out of sight, then locks back up as quickly as he can. He pulls the lever that shuts off the store’s sign, the one that practically made it a landmark. The pale orange glow gone from the room, he thinks about it being permanently decommissioned – or worse, replaced by Music Town’s garish logo. What were they thinking with that font, anyway?

He dashes back to James’s office in the dark, only lightly stubbing his toe against a listening booth in the process. Pulse racing, Niall perches on the chair, pulls the paperwork from its envelope, then places it on the desk. He adjusts the desk lamp so it illuminates the cover page, which, yes, identifies the document as a franchise agreement for the most soulless, vampiric corporation in the universe – one ruining the musical experience for an entire generation.

His dismay builds as Niall flips through pages and pages of fine print, finally coming to the place where James’s signature is required. As a valued member of the Empire Records team, he knows of course that James owns a small stake in the store, though nothing to rival Mr. Cowell’s share. Still, if they’re going to hand over the place to those scum-sucking suits to gut and homogenize, James would have to okay it too.

Not that he’d have much of a choice, if that’s what Cowell wanted. James lives in a studio apartment a few blocks away. He rides a bike to work. He patches up his same wool overcoat every winter. No, James wouldn’t sell out unless he were forced to. And if he had the money to challenge the decision of the boss – who, by the way, never even sets foot in the store if he can help it – Niall _knows_ that he would.

Wouldn’t he?

If only there were some way that Niall could help him.

Because Empire Records isn’t just where he works. It’s not just where his impeccable taste in music took shape. It’s his favorite place in the world. And his friends may find him a little _intense_ sometimes, but he’s certain they’d be just as ready to storm Cowell’s office if they knew it was going to be sold out from under them.

There’s no question. Niall has to act. He has to save his home and his friends and James and that fucking beautiful sign.

His eyes dart back and forth from the contract to the deposit bag.

“Fuck it.”

He grabs his jacket and the money and makes a beeline for the back door.

In the immortal words of The Doors: The time to hesitate is through.

*****

One hour later, he’s in the smoky basement of his friend Justin’s grandma’s house – the site of a quietly famous underground poker game – holding a three, a six, two nines, and a Queen in bone-dry fingers, his small mountain of chips pushed into the center of the card table. He’d thrown in everything he had in the first hand, effectively doubling the night’s deposit. One last win would do it, or at least convince James to postpone the sale while the gang figured the rest out. But though his luck has seemed to abandon Niall, his confidence hasn’t. And he’s trusting what Harry calls his “Mr. Miyagi face” to lull his one remaining competitor into the belief that Niall is holding an unbeatable hand.

The guy – some jock who used to shove Niall against the lockers in high school and whose car dealership ads are even dumber than your average local commercials – narrows his eyes, studying Niall’s face. Niall keeps his breathing steady, trying to think of anything but his friends, asleep in their respective homes, completely ignorant that their fate hangs in the balance of this game. He’s got this.

“Call,” the jock announces suddenly, pushing his organized stacks of chips away from him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Niall reluctantly lays down his cards, his blood turning cold in his veins.

“That was a decent bluff, Horan,” the other guy chuckles. “But it looks like it didn’t pay off.”

He fans out his own hand – a straight.

Niall continues staring at the spot where his chips had lain long after they’ve been cleared away and cashed in.

It’s highly probable that James might determine that this was his fault.

*****

Harry has a complicated relationship with mornings.

They involve waking up, for one, and negotiating the broken stair halfway down the second flight in his building, for another. His caffeine-loving heart cracks anew every time he has to pass up the town’s new Starbucks on his way to get his weak – but cheap – convenience store coffee.

It’s all the same. The days roll in, they roll out. Harry walks the same route to the same job, making the same conversation with his downstairs neighbor about her husband’s layoff and fruitless job search. This isn’t necessarily a town where things _happen,_ so there’s not all that much to look forward to.

But most days, when the sun rises...it means he’s that much closer to seeing Louis again.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t like working at the Empire. It’s a good gig. He knows the store like the back of his hand; can find you even the most obscure European deluxe single in under 30 seconds. (Niall’s timed trials confirmed it.) 90% of his friends work there too, and they’re rarely called to do anything more than goof off all day. It's easy. Familiar.

He turns the corner, tosses the wrapper from his over-processed muffin into the dumpster behind the store, and wishes that he could be like Liam, satisfied to be a “music librarian” for all the tragically under-educated consumers in his hometown.

He’s not, though. The plan had been to do two years at community college before applying to art school. But deferring and getting a job seemed like the practical thing to do after he saw the way his mother blanched at the bill for just one semester’s tuition. And at the time, Harry hadn’t felt the least bit resentful about it. He came home the next day with a stack of employment applications and a smile on his face, feeling proud to be able to contribute. He isn’t resentful now either – not towards his family at least.

He’d managed to fit some night classes in here and there, though – and he almost has his basic courses completed. Harry has always been a middling student in every field but art, but his work was passable. And now that he’s reasonably back on track, he could start sending out art school applications. But a quietly vicious voice in the back of Harry’s head tells him that he’s too out of practice, that he probably wouldn’t have done well anyway, and that his artistic skills have only dulled without proper instruction. Working during the day and taking core classes at night left him with little time for practice. And he listens to that voice. He’s made no move to pick his dreams back up, even though he sometimes feels like he’s suffocating.

Louis is the only part of his life in which Harry currently sees any potential at all. And the _really_ unfortunate bit is that Louis still has no idea how Harry feels. Well, he’s tired of it. He’s tired of standing still and letting everything good pass him by because he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve it. So on _this_ morning, Harry’s finally taking a step towards his future. It fills him with a sense of purpose. Fear, too, but mostly purpose.

He’s surprised to see Niall in the alleyway, sitting on his parked moped, looking down the street in Harry’s direction. He wouldn’t let anyone leave yesterday without announcing to them that he, Niall Horan, was closing, and then making them shake his hand. James wouldn’t have put him on today’s schedule for at least another five hours, so his presence is suspect.

As Harry draws nearer, he takes in Niall’s blank expression and the bruise-colored half-moons underneath his eyes and wonders if he even went to bed.

“Niall…” he says, knowing the guy well enough to be suspicious. “What are you doing here?”

“What are any of us doing here, Harry? Are our actions – our existence – prescribed by some higher power? Are we even _making_ any choices, or do they just want us to _feel_ like we are?”

Harry crosses his arms over his abdomen and purses his lips. “Mmmkay. Yeah, I don’t know, buddy.”

Niall reaches out and pokes Harry’s chest with his fingertip. “Something to think about today.”

“Sure,” Harry concedes, used to Niall’s cryptic periods. “You’re not on until later though, right?”

“What’s up, guys?”

Shawn bounds over to them from the other direction before Niall can answer, shaggy curls falling over his forehead, the sleeves of his oversized t-shirt – probably advertising some local punk band – nearly hitting his elbows. The newest member of the team, Shawn is also the youngest and the most enthusiastic. His passion for this job makes Harry feel like he’s approximately 60 years old.

“Shawn,” Niall says seriously. “Come here. Harry, you too.”

Shawn shoots a confused look at Harry, who shrugs. They both take a step forward towards Niall.

_“Closer.”_

They take another step, and with a “c’mere” gesture, Niall beckons them to lean down to him.

“What the fuck, Niall.” Harry doesn’t have time for whatever bizarre fantasy he’s cooked up. He’s got to make a boy fall in love with him. _Today._ On this completely arbitrary day that’s important for no other reason than that it’s about to be the first one of the rest of his life.

Niall looks from one of them to the other, his mouth set in a straight line.

“Before we go in there, I just wanted you to know…there are things that we cannot change, but there are things that we should try to. Even if it destroys us.”

Shawn looks at Harry helplessly. But they’ve just got to ride this out.

“It’s like Floyd said: Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage? I, my friends, did not. But there will be consequences.”

“What consequences?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, young Harold. But know that I loved being in the trenches with all of you.”

“You too, man,” Shawn says brightly, probably baked already.

Harry just shakes his head and turns to head inside. Whatever’s going on, he knows better than to hope that Niall will just _tell_ them, like a normal person. So he casts it right out of his mind, thoughts returning to bright blue eyes, graceful wrists, and putting himself out of his own misery.

He hears Niall hop off the bike behind him, and Shawn chattering away about whatever underground show he sneaked into last Saturday. The back door doesn’t budge when he tries to pull it open, so he digs his keys out from his pocket and unlocks it with the key James gave him almost two years ago. At the time, it had been exciting.

The millisecond before he flips on the main switch, he notices that the desk lamp in James’s office is still on. Harry hustles over to turn it off, furrowing his brow when he looks back at Niall. James wouldn’t be pleased if he had proof that Niall was fucking around in his personal space last night, but then again, what else could he have possibly expected? It’s Niall.

Despite his spaciness and his knack for speaking in fortune cookie messages, he’s still one of Harry’s best friends. It had hit him when Harry realized that he could even _understand_ Niall’s enigmatic pronouncements sometimes, and that the guy was more loyal to the Empire and to all of them than anyone else. Anyway, right now, Harry needs a pep talk, even if it’s a really fucking weird one. So he descends the few steps from James’s office to the main floor, grabs the sleeve of Niall’s leather jacket, and pulls him into the count-out room. Everything else can wait.

Niall just goes willingly, doesn’t even make a sound. Harry shuts the door once they’re both inside, and pivots to find his friend looking at him expectantly.

“Um, I’m going to tell him today,” Harry says, twisting the sleeve of the flannel shirt he has tied around his waist. “I’m gonna tell Louis that I’m in love with him.”

“Okay.”

 _“Okay?”_ Harry whines. “Is that all you’ve got for me? In your infinite wisdom?”

“I’ll say something else if you want me to.”

Harry opens his arms in an exasperated shrug. Maybe he should have picked another confidante.

Niall heaves a sigh, then continues, “I don’t know what I could say to you that would make more sense than what you already know. It took, what, a month of Louis working here before you were ready to propose?”

“A month before I _told_ you that,” Harry mutters.

“Fine, so it was love at first sight. And in the year since, you’ve only gotten more obsessed with him?”

Harry nods, scrunching up his nose.

“He seems to be unattached. In fact, I don’t remember Louis dating anyone since he started. And he likes you. You’re so inseparable during your shifts it looks like one of you is gonna cry anytime the other has to go to the stockroom.”

Niall makes it sound so simple. But he’s not as wise as he thinks he is.

“That’s because we’re _friends,_ Ni.” Niall narrows his eyes at him, but Harry plows forward. “And he’s so... _ugh,_ he’s so _perfect._ Just like…smart, and pretty, and so fucking funny. He could have anyone.”

“Right,” Niall confirms. “So why doesn’t he _have_ anyone?”

Harry can’t find an answer for that. Niall walks over to him, grasps both of his shoulders, and looks him straight in the eyes.

“You spend all your time thinking he’s too good for you. But what if you’re exactly what he’s waiting for?”

Harry stops fidgeting with his shirt, his apprehension turning back into determination. Could that possibly be true?

“Get your head out of your ass, Harry.”

“Today,” he says, steeling his expression.

“Today. Today is a perfect day.”

“At…” Harry looks at the clock on the wall. “At 3:28 pm exactly.”

“That,” Niall says with conviction, “is an excellent time.”

*****

They’ve opened and Harry’s on his knees reorganizing the R&B section when Nick waltzes through the front door, Louis trailing right behind. He can only see the top of Nick’s head over the shelf between them and Louis not at all. But Harry knows he’s there; firstly, because Nick always gives Louis a ride (which is _fine,_ Harry’s not jealous at all that he doesn’t have a car for only this exact purpose), and secondly, because he’s fretting loudly about his college applications. As usual.

Harry smiles to himself but stays crouched, knowing it keeps him hidden from their view.

“It’s been _weeks,”_ Louis says, “And nothing. I applied to my top six and all four safeties. Even a _state_ school, Grim. If state school doesn’t want me, what am I supposed to do? What will become of me?”

“Oh, state school, _the horror.”_ Harry doesn’t need to look at him to know that Nick’s rolling his eyes. “Settle down, drama queen. You really need to cut down on the coffee. Or I need to drink more.”

“You should see the way my stepdad looks at me in the morning,” Louis says, darkly. “Every day I don’t get any acceptance packages, it gets worse. He just stares at me over his newspaper. It’s creepy.”

“If he’s disappointed by a son that’s at the head of his class, then he’s impossible to please. And you should just let it go,” Nick says wearily. “I’m _begging_ you: Just let it go.”

Not that he’s ever been in this situation, seeing as his report cards were filled with B’s and C’s, but Harry feels for Louis. When you want something that bad, no one will be able to convince you that it’s not important. None of _them_ are worried about Louis being successful – he’s the total package and then some – but that doesn’t mean his own fears aren’t real.

He pops up, figuring he’s eavesdropped enough. “Hey, guys.”

They whirl around to face him, and Harry’s heart wrenches a bit to see how pale Louis looks today.

“Harold, I’m glad you’re here,” Nick says. “Could you please tell Louis that he’s being ridiculous?”

“About what?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

“About the fact that he’s the only person in this town that’s actually _going_ anywhere,” Nick says. “So he should stop worrying so much and just enjoy being a senior. Most of us only get to do that once.”

Harry’s eyes falls back onto Louis, looking softer and more slight than usual in a touchable blue sweater and plaid skinny pants. He gives Harry a close-lipped smile.

“You’re gonna do great, Lou,” he says, sincerely. “But it’s okay if you’re scared.”

Nick scoffs. “Some help you are. I keep saying, all he needs is a distraction.” He faces Louis again. “I’m telling you, that wide receiver is questioning. And I’ve seen him check you out.”

Harry clenches his fist behind his back at the idea of some... _football_ player touching the small of Louis’s back, making him laugh, lifting his shirt over his head and watching goosebumps break out on his shoulders…He has to get a grip.

“I told you, I have to concentrate,” Louis stresses.

“But your applications are out there. If you get accepted, it’s a done deal. Can’t you ease off a bit?”

“Then I run the risk of dropping in the graduation standings. Mark would go postal if I didn’t go valedictorian. Anything less than the best means I’m a family disappointment.”

“So no wide receiver then?” Nick asks, looking almost disappointed himself.

“No wide receiver.”

A sense of relief flows through Harry, until he realizes that no dating means _no_ dating. How can he offer himself to Louis today if he’s sworn off men completely? He looks down at his watch: 10:45am. He has less than five hours to change his mind.

“Then you don’t mind if _I_ see what’s going on there?” The rest of the Empire may be hopeless, but Nick seems to be dating enough for all of them.

“Be my guest,” Louis says, more amused than annoyed.

Nick winks at them, then heads to the back to hang up his jacket.

“Thanks, Curly,” Louis says, stepping closer to Harry as soon as Nick’s out of earshot.

“For what?”

“For getting me,” he answers, simply. He holds his gaze for just long enough for Harry to feel a slight sweat break at his temples. Maybe this will be less painful than he thought.

“You’re a good friend.”

Maybe not.

*****

“Niall,” Harry asks slowly, “why does the bank guy want to talk to James?”

Niall looks up from the music magazine he’s paging through. He’s refused to tell anyone why he’s here right now, though evidently it’s not to work.

“Dunno. Maybe they’re friendly.”

“Didn’t sound like a social call,” Harry says, anxiety lapping at the back of his mind. “He wants James to call him back right away. And I think you know what’s going on.”

“I know more than I want to, believe me,” Niall says ruefully.

“Can you stop talking in riddles and just give me a clue, man? Something happened last night, and now you’re here, and I don’t know why I feel responsible for you, _but I do._ So, come on, huh? Maybe I can help.”

Now, Harry’s crouched in front of Niall where he sits on the break room couch. Niall looks purely, genuinely sad for a second, and Harry’s heart twists ominously.

“I don’t think there’s anything any of us can do,” Niall states plainly, then ruffles Harry’s hair.

“Afternoon, boys.” The double doors slap closed behind James. That must mean it’s exactly noon, as Harry’s never known his boss to be a minute late. He’s here from twelve to eight everyday like clockwork, presiding over the Empire’s peak hours and keeping the rest of them from scaring customers off by taking their charming lack of professionalism a little too far. Sick days are rare, vacations nonexistent. James loves this store more than anything – in one vulnerable (drunk) moment, he’d told Harry he felt that it was really all he had. It might be another reason why Harry sticks around.

“Hey, boss,” Harry says, shooting one more serious glance at Niall. He has a sinking feeling about all of this, and needless to say, the distraction is making it impossible to put all his efforts into wooing Louis.

“Ahoy,” Niall says robotically, then returns to his magazine.

“Ahoy,” James repeats thirty seconds later, rifling through papers on his desk but sensing Harry leaning in his doorway. “That’s a new one. Why’s he here anyway?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Harry answers. “It’s Niall, so like...who knows.”

“Who knows,” James parrots, mind elsewhere. Then he looks up at Harry and asks, “Did you see an envelope on my desk this morning? Or did anything get dropped off today?”

Harry chews his lip. “No, um, but the bank called for you? That Robert guy.”

James’s eyes seem to focus finally, making him dangerously present. “The bank, are you…?” He’s picked up the phone and is already angrily dialing. “Knew I shouldn’t have trusted–hello? Robert, yeah. It’s James at Empire.”

He hasn’t been waved off, so Harry remains, watching James’s expression shift from curiosity to surprise to a hardness he hasn’t seen since the staff’s last prank war went too far and resulted in the destruction of one listening booth by bubble bath.

“Yes...I understand...I’m sure he’s just forgotten, it’s right here in the safe...yes, we’ll get it over to you right away.”

The safe is open and empty, right near James’s left elbow.

“Of course. Thanks for letting me know, Robert, I appreciate your call.”

James replaces the receiver with a click and Harry braces himself.

“NIALL,” he bellows, and Harry leaps two feet out of the way. Niall’s still on the couch, trying to assume a defensive position. James wouldn’t actually touch any of them, but Harry lingers just in case. “Where the _hell_ is my money?”

“Ah, well,” Niall says, pointer finger in the air. “That’s an interesting story.”

“Well, I’m on the edge of my seat,” James hisses.

“It all started when I was closing up…”

“Were you _robbed?”_ James cuts him off. “Held at gunpoint? Forced to surrender the deposit?”

“Well, no, thank god,” Niall says with a chuckle. _“That_ would have been scary.”

“Then where is it? Who has it? Because the bank said it never got there, and it’s not still here, is it?”

Niall shakes his head no.

“Then who has my $4,000, Niall?”

“You know the guy on TV, with the used Chevy commercials? Big Jim? That stupid jingle, get it in my head all the time.”

“Can you not change the subject please, I _will_ kill you.”

“No, he has it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Big Jim, the Chevy guy. He has the $4,000. He called my bluff. Had a straight.”

Harry hitches in a breath. This is bad, this is very, very bad.

“You _gambled,”_ James whispers, voice shaking with fury, “the nightly deposit? Have you lost your _mind?”_

“I wasn’t stealing it,” Niall explains. James looks murderous, and Harry marvels at how calm his friend still appears. “I was going to win a lot, then bring it back here. For you!”

James runs a hand through his hair roughly, probably to keep himself from strangling the person in front of him. “You lost it. All of it. Do you understand how stupid that was? What am I supposed to tell Mr. Cowell? ‘Sorry, my star employee has a terrible poker face?’ What were you _thinking?”_

Niall turns indignant at that. “At least I tried,” he says, fixing James with a stare.

Harry could swear he sees James flinch at that, but he’s still utterly lost.

“Do not move from that couch, Niall,” James says, voice even. “You are glued to that couch until I say you can leave. I’ve got to go clean up your mess.”

Harry hangs back, lets James make his phone call to Cowell, apologizing for Niall’s forgetfulness and assuring him the deposit is on the way to the bank. Their goodbye makes it sound as if the main owner is dropping by the store later, which is just one more oddity to add to an already unusual day.

James doesn’t seem to know what to do next, dropping his head into his hands and staring at the wood grain of his desk. Fortunately, Harry considers himself a master of diffusing tension (all types except sexual, it would seem), so he swoops in to try to take his boss’s mind off the current crisis. (Anything to keep Niall alive a little longer.)

“So, James. James?” He looks up, confused to see Harry back in his office. “I know it’s like, a bad time. But can I get your advice on something?”

James groans, but Harry continues on.

“Do you think that it’s possible for someone to be in love with someone else and, um, not even know it?”

“Not this again.”

“See, because I know that Louis hasn’t said anything to you, and nothing’s happened yet with us. But I don’t know, what if his feelings are all hidden? Like you know in movies when super soldiers hear the code word and they suddenly remember their mission? Sometimes I think if I just _tell_ Louis then maybe...maybe some part of him will wake up. Maybe he’ll realize he’s loved me too, this entire time.”

“So Louis is a brainwashed super soldier in this scenario?”

“Yes. No. Well, yes, but not in a weird way.”

“There’s no not-weird way.”

“Fine,” Harry acquiesces. “Anyway, I’m going to talk to him today. I’m finally going to say it, because sometimes I feel like I’ll just drift away if I don’t. So...wish me luck?”

“Harry, I don’t know if Louis likes you as more than a friend. Because he’s my _employee,_ and _he_ actually treats me like I’m his boss, not Miss Cleo’s hotline. But if your big love confession means that you’ll stop coming in here everyday and mooning over him, I’m all for it.”

Harry grins crookedly, because he can read between the lines of James’s grumpiness. “Good enough for me.”

“You’ll never know unless you try,” James says to his back, after Harry assumed he’d finished.

He’s still smiling to himself when he reaches the sales floor. All his coworkers are facing Nick, who has his back to Harry. Louis catches Harry’s eye and raises his eyebrows. Harry winks, because he knows what’s about to happen.

“You know the rules, children,” Nick is announcing, resolutely ignoring the few customers milling about the store. Harry speedwalks over to him to grab an M&M out of the bowl, Nick nodding in approval when he takes a color no one else has claimed. “A match means you pick the next CD. And we all have to suffer through it, so please do pick out something that does not suck. You work at a record store, for god’s sake. Have some self respect.”

Shawn claps when the speech is over, and Harry automatically turns his head towards Louis, like he does when anything unintentionally funny happens. The tips of his ears get hot when he finds that Louis was already looking at him.

“I’ve got a green! Who’s got green?” Nick’s voice pulls Harry back to the present, though he has to inspect his palm to remind himself that he took a red.

“Woo hoo!” Shawn leaps into the air, then races up to the sound system behind the counter while the rest of them groan in unison.

“Oh god, here we go. Gird your loins, everyone,” Nick complains.

“Punk is an art form,” Shawn says as he’s popping a disc into the changer, “It’s a _lifestyle._ It changed the world, gave a voice to the the spirit of anarchy.”

“Shawn Mendes, the spirit of anarchy,” Louis says under his breath. Harry snorts.

“You guys are gonna love this one, trust me,” Shawn insists. They’ve heard that before.

The problem isn’t that Shawn respects the history of punk, it’s that he wants so badly to believe in its resurgence. So while the Sex Pistols would make for an acceptable working environment, this punk-metal hybrid abomination just attacks Harry’s eardrums.

He clutches his ears as the vocalist scream-sings and sees Louis do the same. Nick immediately turns tail and heads into the backroom. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watches one of the people who had been contentedly browsing walk out the door empty-handed. Oblivious to all of this, Shawn is singing and playing air guitar behind the counter, throwing his full body into the song, hair flying everywhere as he headbangs.

“Veto?” Harry mouths to Louis. Louis nods.

He’ll get unintentionally whacked by one of Shawn’s flailing limbs if he attempts to get to the stereo the good old fashioned way, so Harry tries another approach. He places his palms on the counter and heaves himself up, his belly sliding over the smooth surface. Shawn’s eyes are still closed, so he doesn’t see Harry stretch out his arm as far as possible, face contorting with the effort. Making himself as long as he can, Harry still can’t quite get there – just half an inch remains between the “Open” button and his fingertip. Suddenly, two hands grasp his legs right above the knees and propel him forward. He jabs the button triumphantly, plunging the store into beautiful silence. Shawn opens his eyes to see Harry sprawled out on the checkout counter, long curls falling around his face, shouting, “Veto!”

“Aw, man,” he whines. “Already?”

“The veto rules are in effect for a reason, Shawny,” Harry says sweetly. “Now why don’t you pick out a nice, harmless New Release for us?”

He grips the side of the counter and pushes himself backward, searching for the ground with the toes of his shoes. When he’s almost vertical again, Louis takes hold of Harry’s waist over the paper-thin cotton of his worn-in t-shirt. He means to guide him down, so why does Harry feel weightless, tethered to the earth only by Louis’s strong slender hands?

“Thanks,” he says softly, turning to find Louis still standing painfully close to him, even with his arms back at his sides.

“He had to be stopped,” Louis says with a solemn nod, then lets his lips quirk up into a grin. “Dream team, right?”

“Dream team,” Harry confirms. His hands itch to mimic Louis’s movement and settle right at the top of the boy’s curves, to feel the place where his hips and ass start to flare outrageously outward. He doesn’t let them. “The Empire would be lost without us.”

*****

“Has anyone seen Zayn?” Liam is already asking from the back door, before he’s set a single foot inside the room. His jaw is set in that way it only is after they have one of their meltdowns. Even in his own pit of romantic despair, Harry’s heart goes out to him. Nobody tries harder than Liam Payne.

“Well, how is he?” he tries again when no one responds.

 _“We’re_ all fine,” James calls from his office. “Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, he’s not here yet,” Harry offers from his seat on the couch, mouth full of turkey sandwich. Niall is next to him, upside down now, blond tips brushing the hardwood floor. “What’d you do this time?” he asks.

“You ask as if I actually know,” Liam grumbles, dropping into a leather recliner that’s seen better days.

They don’t make much sense on paper, Zayn and Liam. It had taken months of working together for Harry to finally determine that the former didn’t passionately hate him – that he was just…like that. Quiet, private, not one to smile just for the sake of it. So it was big Empire gossip when word got around that Zayn had been spending time outside of the store with Liam, who was so friendly he’s been known to be gifted fresh baked cookies and little trinkets from regular customers. It wasn’t an overnight change, but Harry, who spent day after day with them, noticed how Zayn started to participate more, to ask questions about his coworker’s personal lives and even open up a little about his. Sometimes, he’d even let Liam hold his hand when they clocked out and left together.

As unexpectedly endearing as those moments were, Harry had been concerned that Liam was settling for someone who didn’t share his brand of showing enthusiastic, puppy-dog-like affection. When they’d been dating a while, Harry got up the courage to ask Liam if Zayn’s guarded attention was enough for him. He hated to think that his friend was settling or letting Zayn dictate the course of their relationship. Liam wasn’t angry, but he made sure to set Harry straight. He was with Zayn because he loved him, not in spite of the ways that they were different but because of them. Harry didn’t know what went on with them behind closed doors (though, based on the love bites he’d accidentally observed on many an occasion, he had an idea) or the ways that Zayn also compromised for Liam, which his friend only alluded to. Sufficiently chastened, Harry held back his judgments from that point on, just smiled to himself whenever he saw Zayn do something sweet for Liam when he thought no one was paying attention.

Still, this tends to happen. Zayn goes through dark periods. Sometimes his mood will drop without much warning. Liam is still trying to learn to navigate those valleys, and how best to help. Evidently, last night he’d picked the wrong tactic.

“He just shut down,” Liam says, on the edge of distraught. “Packed a bag and went to sleep at his sister’s.”

“He’s done this before though, right?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, and I’m sure he’s fine. But he doesn’t like me to call and check up on him. So I didn’t, but then that means that _I_ don’t sleep. It’s just a mess.”

Harry reaches out and pats Liam’s knee. “He’ll be here soon, buddy. And I’ll cover for you out there if you want to take a nap back here.”

Niall, now red-faced because of the blood rushing towards his head, pats the couch next to him and smiles. Liam frowns in confusion, then looks to Harry.

“What’s up with him?”

“I’m handling it.”

They all jump half an inch in their seats when someone comes slamming through the double doors, leaving them flapping behind him. Zayn doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, just clocks in and heads straight to the count-out room, jacket still on and a mysterious cardboard box under his arm.

“Oh, boy,” Harry breathes.

“Those are some extremely bad vibes,” Niall adds.

“You gonna go in there?” Harry turns to Liam, who’s pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

“Better give him a minute.”

*****

He does, but when Zayn doesn’t emerge, Liam tentatively goes after him, nodding at Harry and Niall as he does. He opens the door quietly to find his boyfriend hovering over a metal contraption, pushing down a heavy lever that releases something with a tinny “pop.”

“Babe?” Liam says, carefully.

Zayn doesn’t turn to look at him, but he does extend an arm behind him. Liam steps forward and frowns, taking the shiny object from Zayn’s upturned palm.

“Too Much,” he reads aloud from the button. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Another pop, another button passed to him.

“Mind Of Mine?” Liam crosses the room so he can actually see Zayn’s face, hoping it’ll be easier to interpret than these enigmatic accessories he’s suddenly so fond of making.

He’s easily the most beautiful human Liam has ever seen, even in the harsh lighting emanating from the single fluorescent light bulb hanging overhead. All it does is emphasize the contrast of his thick, dark eyelashes fanning out over his flawless skin and make the angles of his face even more striking. But with his sickly complexion and wrinkled clothes, he doesn’t look _well,_ and Liam would wager that he didn’t get much sleep either after fleeing their apartment. His heart constricts like Zayn himself has a physical hold on it, and he throws up another silent prayer that this time he’ll say the right thing – that this time, he’ll actually help.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he begins, which seems safe enough. “How are you feeling?”

Zayn glances up at him and shrugs his shoulders almost imperceptibly. The lever falls again, and he adds another button to a growing pile.

“It’s totally okay that you need space sometimes, and I’m glad you have Doniya so close,” Liam says slowly. “I just want you to know that I miss you when you’re gone. And I want you to be happy.”

“Happy like you, right?” Zayn says smoothly, and it slides under Liam’s skin like a scalpel.

“Like...what?”

“I’m not _like_ you, Liam. I can’t walk around all day like there’s nothing wrong. I don’t want to be everyone’s best fucking friend. Can you just _understand_ that? Like, I don’t think it’s all that difficult to get.”

“I don’t want that from you,” Liam tries. “You know I don’t. But if you could tell me what _is_ wrong, maybe we could figure it out together.”

“You don’t understand,” Zayn murmurs.

“Can you help me then?”

“There’s no magic word that’s going to make me different. So stop trying to find it.”

Zayn pushes back from the table, gathering a few of his buttons in his hand. Liam follows him out to the break room and watches him wordlessly hand one to Harry and another to Niall.

“Still Got Time,” Harry reads. “Time for what?” Zayn just raises his eyebrows at him.

“Truth,” says Niall, right side up now. He pins the button to his shirt immediately. “This is awesome, man. Thanks. Good reminder.”

“What’s with you today?” Zayn spits.

“What’s with _today,_ today?” Niall answers mysteriously.

He shakes his head, then moves towards the double doors.

“Please don’t babysit me,” Zayn says suddenly, whirling around to face Liam, who instinctively takes a step back and holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s...I just need to not be around you right now.”

They all watch him push through the swinging doors and hear a distant Nick greet him with, “Hey, if it isn’t Elvira, Mistress of the Dark.”

Liam plops on the couch in between Niall and Harry, then drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder.

“’M sorry,” Harry whispers. “I know he really loves you though.”

“I think he forgets,” Liam answers, miserably.

Harry screws up his face and shakes his head. “Nah, never. Maybe it’s just like, the other stuff gets too loud sometimes.”

“Okay, so here’s what I need from you guys, then,” Liam says. “No sudden movements. _No_ pranks. No schemes of any kind. A nice quiet day, that’s what he needs. We’ll just all lay low, right?”

Niall inhales, long and loud. “Um, about that?”

*****

Harry hands a woman her new Whitney Houston Greatest Hits album and a receipt, then glances up at the clock for the thousandth time since lunch.

3:20pm. His life will irrevocably be changed forever in eight minutes, no matter how the conversation goes.

Harry huffs an anxious breath, sneaking another look at Louis, who’s keeping himself busy dusting CD cases, gliding down the aisles, humming to himself and cutely blowing his bangs out of his face. The muscle in Harry’s chest tightens with every flick of the feather duster.

They’d hit it off from the moment Louis, adorably hesitant, left his resume at the counter – a professional-looking thing more suited to a stockbroker than a high school junior. Harry had been responsible for training him, a responsibility the then 19-year-old was eager to take on. Shortly, they became inseparable, at least in the store. Harry was captivated by Louis’s entire existence, the way he just seemed to shine a little brighter than everything and everyone else, and they spent many slow days blasting guilty pleasure hair band ballads and acting out the videos or placing bets on how many times a week James would threaten to fire Niall – really, this time, _for good._ (An empty threat, by the way. All of them knew he would never, including James.)

Like the rest of them, Louis couldn’t be easily categorized. Anyone who wrote him off as a teacher’s pet would have missed his caustic jokes, the rebellious nature simmering just below the veneer of the person his stepdad _wanted_ him to be. And best of all, Louis treated Harry like all of his wants were as important as Louis’s, _ooh_ -ing and _aah-_ ing over the few sketches Harry would let him see, and checking out Art History books from the school library so they could page through them together during breaks.

Harry had tried a few times to suggest a movie – just as friends, though if Louis decided he might like to let their hands brush over a shared popcorn tub, so be it – but he quickly learned that Louis was aggressively over-programmed with after-school activities meant to beef up his college applications, leaving him with barely enough time to study for his equally heavy course load. The store was the only acceptable excuse for breaking curfew in Mark’s mind – clever of Louis to fulfill his stepdad’s edict to find a part-time job by getting hired at this circus, which also doubles as his social life.

Today, there are two countdowns ticking loudly in his head: the one to his 3:28 deadline, of course, and the one to Louis getting the hell out of here and embarking on what’s sure to be an incredible life – as big and full and grand as Louis deserves. If Harry were him, he wouldn’t look back. Unless he had a good reason to.

So...fuck it. Fuck being afraid. Fuck letting this boy slip through his fingers.

Harry clenches and unclenches his fists, locks his gaze right onto Louis and starts to move towards the sales floor to pull him away for a conversation that’s long overdue.

“Lou? Louis?”

Harry’s head whips around. He recognizes the oldest of Louis’s younger sisters, Lottie, even though her purple bike helmet is still on her head. She stays up near the front, her reservation endearing her to Harry immensely. He’s a sucker for the whole Tomlinson family, apparently. Aside from the stepfather who dares make Louis – _Louis_ – feel like he’s not good enough.

“Lottie, what’s wrong?” Louis comes forward from the back, concern written all over his face.

“Mark – I mean Dad – told me to come right down here.” She thrusts an oversized envelope out to him, bouncing on her heels. “This came today. It’s Columbia.”

Louis’s mouth falls open and he grabs for it, shooting a quick look at Harry. Sensing (hoping) that he’s needed, Harry descends from the sales counter and draws up to Louis’s side, ready to be a shoulder to cry on or, more likely based on the look of the package, celebrate with him. Louis rips the envelope open jaggedly. Lottie bites down on her lip and wrings her little hands. Harry pulls in a breath and holds it. The Cranberries sing about “Dreams” over the PA, which is a little on the nose in Harry’s opinion.

Louis pulls out the cover letter and holds it right up to his face, mouthing the words he’s silently reading. After a few heartbeats, he drops the letter and his hand to his side and blankly looks from Harry to Lottie to Nick, who’d joined their group in the meantime.

“Well?!” Nick prods.

“I got in,” he says, barely above a whisper. Lottie shrieks and throws her arms around him, nailing him in the chest with her helmet. He barely reacts.

“Holy shit, Louis,” Harry says, ignoring Lottie’s frown at his language. “Columbia. You’re going to New York.”

“Yep,” Louis answers, still seemingly in shock.

“You’re going to _New York,”_ Harry repeats, his grin overtaking his face.

“I am,” Louis beams, coming back to himself. He runs a hand over the letter reverently. “It’s happening. I can’t believe it.”

“You’re the only one, you moron,” Nick laughs. “You were born for the Ivy League.”

“Lots. Go straight home and tell Mom and Mark.” She nods, tears shining in her eyes. “ _Be careful,_ okay? Don’t go too fast, and _don’t_ take that shortcut through the Millers’ lawn, they hate that.”

She throws her arms around his waist one more time, and Louis kisses the top of her helmet. Harry loves him terribly much.

But there’s no way he’s going to tell him that now.

There’s no reservation. Harry’s genuinely thrilled for him. No one deserves a break more than Louis, the kindest, most hardworking person he’s ever met. As he envelopes him in a hug, Harry wonders if Louis can feel his heart thudding against his ribs, loud and heavy with everything he’s holding back. His wet lashes brush against Harry’s cheek and Harry knows that it would be selfish to tie him down, to make Louis believe that he owes him something. He should go away to college completely untethered, and Harry couldn’t live with himself if he ruined this for him.

He squeezes Louis to him one more time, then reluctantly lets go. Louis holds his gaze for another second, soft smile on his face, then turns to walk into Nick’s waiting arms.

Harry looks back at the clock. It’s 3:29.

*****

He keeps the smile plastered on his face – it's real enough, but still, a complex thing – until he's out of Louis's sight. Harry’s surprised to find Zayn alone in the break room, staring at the ceiling in silence. James isn’t in his office, but the door – adorned by a sign reading “KEEP OUT” in bright red letters – is shut.

"Wait. Did James actually let Niall leave?"

Zayn drops his chin to look at Harry. "He found a loophole," he says calmly, slightly inclining his head to the right.

Harry follows the gesture and notices that the couch cushion that should be there next to Zayn is gone. "Unbelievable."

“James went to the bank, I think. Seemed pretty wound up when he left. What did Niall _do,_ exactly?”

“Lost last night’s deposit in an underground poker game,” Harry says offhandedly.

Zayn hums, unimpressed.

Harry collapses into the recliner with a heavy sigh, figuring that if misery loves company, it might love Zayn's the most.

"What's wrong with _you?"_

Or...not.

"I don't think this is ever going to happen, Zayn."

"Are you serious?” Zayn glares at him. “Tell me you’re not back here moping because of Louis.”

"Hey man, you asked."

"I wouldn't have if I'd known."

Harry scoffs.

"You do realize that this isn't a _real_ problem, right?" Zayn continues. "You're sad because you don't know how Louis feels about you. There's an easy solution to that. Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

"I got it, thanks," Harry says sarcastically.

"Then fucking _do it,_ Harry. You act like you're stuck in this situation, but it's your own fault that you are."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, knowing that Zayn is (annoyingly) right.

"You want to go to art school, but you won't apply. You want Louis, but you won't make a move. Do you have any idea how tired _everyone_ is of hearing about this?"

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Zayn cuts him off.

“I _wish_ I knew why I felt this way, but I don’t. It’s not Liam, it’s not this job. It’s not that I brought the wrong fucking sandwich for lunch. Do you have any idea what I’d give to have an answer to all my problems sitting right in front of me?”

Harry presses his lips together and deflates.

“You’re lucky, you asshole,” Zayn adds, a little kinder now. “You’ve got a road map. Just put yourself out there and stop making excuses about why you can’t. It’s fucking irritating.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much,” Harry says after a beat.

Zayn sniffs, and Harry could almost swear it was a laugh.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. When Harry breaks it, his voice is just above a whisper.

“Um, we’re all here for you. You know that right?”

Zayn looks at him from underneath those stupidly glamorous lashes.

“We’re idiots, and we’re not very good at emotions, but we’re here for you. I hope that counts for something.”

“It does,” Zayn says after a moment, looking down at his hands.

“And Liam would do literally anything for you. He doesn’t want to ‘fix’ you, whatever you may think. He just wants to be on the same team.”

Zayn closes his eyes and sits back against the couch, looking pained.

“I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty, and he wouldn’t want you to either. Just...I can tell you feel better after unloading on me like that.” Harry grins. Zayn’s eyes flutter open, and he contributes a small smile of his own. “So, maybe it would help a little bit if you talked to him more. Just explain what’s going on, even if you can’t explain why.”

It doesn’t escape Harry that they’re both handing out advice they ought to be taking themselves. That’s why this ridiculous group dynamic works so well, despite evidence to the contrary. No one at Empire Records is afraid to tell anyone else when they’re being a complete moron.

“Styles, don’t let this go to your head,” Zayn says seriously. “But you’re not as dumb as you look.”

*****

Harry hides in the back until Liam returns from his break, hands Zayn a large black coffee, and beams in surprise and relief when he gets a kiss on the cheek in return. Alone time is a luxury in this place, so he figures they’re owed whatever’s left before James returns.

The sales floor is quieter than usual, Harry notices as he steps back out to the front. The music is at a third of its regular volume, and the usually rambunctious after-school crowd is instinctively following suit. He finds Shawn and Nick whispering to each other in the International Music section, both looking at Louis, who’s on the phone at the register.

“What’s up?”

Nick looks to Harry, expression grim.

“Louis’s mom called. To congratulate him.”

Shawn is frowning too, which is rare enough to be really concerning.

“But Mark didn’t,” Harry supplies, certain in his heart that he’s right.

“Nope,” Nick says, popping the ‘p.’ “I can tell. Just look at that face. I bet Mark didn’t even say anything to Louis _through_ Jay. Honestly, that guy is a dick on his best day. He’s lucky I don’t drive over there right now.”

“Louis must be devastated,” Harry says, eyes locked on the boy standing stock still at the sales counter, holding the phone to his cheek.

“Seriously,” Shawn adds.

“It’s so fucking frustrating. Because he does a lot of this for himself. You know he actually likes doing the work, for some reason I can’t understand,” Nick says. “But Louis could get valedictorian _in his sleep._ Meanwhile, he’s missed his entire childhood, for what? Just to please Mark. All that man would have to do is say, ‘Good job, son.’ Once. That’s it.”

“He doesn’t fucking deserve him.”

With that pronouncement, Harry is off towards the counter. He doesn’t have a plan, just an urgent need to give Louis whatever validation his shitty excuse for a stepfather is withholding. The boy’s put the receiver back into the cradle and is watching Harry approach with unshed tears in his eyes.

“Louis, can I talk to you for a second?”

Louis nods once, a fat tear shakes loose with the motion and tumbles down his cheek.

“Attention employees,” James bellows over the PA just then. Harry and Louis look at each other incredulously. They didn’t know he’d come back from the bank, and anyway, James will rarely pick the thing up, believing that any time he did, it was a tacit encouragement for the rest of them to use it to collect lunch orders, quote _Wayne’s World,_ or – its most frequent abuse – to embarrass each other.

“Thanks to the actions of your colleague Niall Horan, Empire Records is about to become a Music Town. That’s right, they’re taking us over. And I hear they run a tight ship, so enjoy your last few days of freedom.”

“What’s he talking about?” Louis whispers, eyes wide, when the PA clicks off.

“I have no idea,” Harry answers. He grabs Louis’s forearm and starts to pull him towards the back. “But it’s not good. Shawn, can you watch the front?”

“Music Town? That place _sucks,”_ a kid in a beanie holding a skateboard mutters as they pass by. He reracks The Offspring album he was holding, and heads for the exit.

It’s like the break room converted to a funeral home in the few minutes that Harry was gone. Liam and Zayn are standing against the wall, eyes downcast. Niall is holding a couch cushion to his chest, looking remarkably less pleased with himself than he had the rest of the day. And James is sitting on the couch with a contract spread out on the table in front of him, eyes dark.

James likes him, Harry can at least count on that. So he figures it might as well be him who breaks the tense silence.

“What’s going on?”

“Harry, hello,” James says, voice steady. “I’m glad you asked. Mr. Cowell has been planning for months to sell this store to Music Town, who’ll convert it to one of their franchises. I didn’t tell any of you this, because I’ve been saving for years to buy the store from him outright. Every extra penny went to that. And I was almost there. Then Niall here had the _genius_ idea to hand last night’s deposit to a car salesman. I had to take money out of my own bank account to cover it, and here we are. So congratulations, everyone. You’re now employees of Music Town. If they decide to keep all of you, that is. You can direct any further questions to Mr. Horan.”

“I’m sorry, James,” Niall murmurs, all roguishness gone. “I didn’t know.”

“Why _would_ you know, Niall?” James explodes. “You all think you can behave however you want here, like this place is your own little playground. But it’s a _business._ It’s _my_ business. It’s my whole damn life!”

“I just saw the contract, and–”

“And you thought I was really going to let that happen to you? To this store?”

“I thought I could help,” Niall tries, voice small.

“And now we’re losing the Empire. And we might all lose our jobs.”

Harry realizes too late for it not to be suspicious that he hasn’t released Louis’s arm. He’s about to drop it, but underneath his fingers, Louis starts to tremble. Harry fearfully searches for his gaze and finds it frighteningly blank. Without thinking about what it means, he slides his hand down and grasps Louis’s, trying to ground him.

“Lou?”

“I have to…” he stutters out. “I have to go. I have to get out of here _right_ now, Harry, right now.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry soothes, brushing his thumb over the skin between Louis’s thumb and index finger. “We’ll go.”

Nick moves towards Louis, but Harry lifts his other hand to shoo him away.

“I got this.”

Nick nods, and takes a step back.

Harry drops Louis’s hand so he can scoop his arm around his waist and support him. Louis is shaking even harder now, and the rest of the room is still and deathly quiet as Harry leads them outside through the back door. He walks them over to a ledge and guides Louis down. Then he crouches down in front of him so he can look Louis in the eye, and moves his hands up to squeeze Louis’s shoulders.

“Breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

He takes some deep inhales and long exhales, encouraging Louis to follow his tempo. When Louis’s eyes drift away, Harry nudges his chin with his finger to bring Louis back to him.

It’s not the first time something like this has happened to Louis in the store, and he usually just needs a few minutes of quiet to get back to his cheerful self. But it still frightens Harry when he looks so distant – like all the pressure that sits on his shoulder is siphoning away his life force. Harry would kiss it back into him if he could.

Instead, he just keeps going. Finally, Louis’s breathing returns to normal and his shudders subside.

“You’re fine, Louis. I’m here and you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Louis breaks their eye contact to look back at the door. “How is it okay?”

He stands up abruptly and walks a few paces, then turns around to face Harry.

“I thought, _I really_ thought, that if I got into a good school, Mark would finally be proud of me, but he’s not. So that was all for nothing. And now all of you – my only friends – are going to be fired. The only building I love in this entire town is going to be converted to a corporate nightmare.”

“But, we don’t know that yet–”

“This store, all of you,” Louis interrupts him. “It’s home to me, Harry. It’s the only place where I feel like just being myself is enough. You thought I was going to leave forever? I was going to come back here and work every summer. So how is _anything_ okay?”

Harry’s heart aches for him. The Empire means a lot to all of them, but Harry didn’t realize that it was a sanctuary for Louis. He thought he knew his best friend so well, but Harry’d underestimated what a number Louis’s stepfather’s constant demands had done on him. Of course all the screwing around and goofing off they did at work was the only time Louis ever got to just be a teenager. And now that’s crashing down around him too.

“Lou, do you remember when James scheduled us to work on Christmas Eve, even though it was your birthday?”

“I asked him to schedule me,” Louis confesses, biting his lip. “I thought it would be more fun to be at work with you than at home.”

A grin spreads over Harry’s face, in spite of everything. In spite of the mess Niall inadvertently created. In spite of James’s anger and despair. In spite of Louis’s looming departure.

“You showed up in that ugly Christmas sweatshirt that Lottie and your mother had made you.”

“With Puffy Paint,” Louis sniffs.

“With Puffy Paint. It was the most hideous thing I’d ever seen,” Harry continues. “That cat tangled up in Christmas lights. But you were so proud of it, and you were so touched by their gift. It stopped being anything other than beautiful to me.”

Louis regards him curiously. Harry drifts a little closer to him.

“And I thought to myself, ‘If I love him more today, in that insane cat sweatshirt, than I did yesterday, this must really be special.’”

His snaps his eyes to Harry’s.

“What?” he asks softly.

“You heard me,” Harry answers, inching closer.

He reaches out a hand and tangles their fingers together, the gesture a hundred times more charged than it was a few minutes ago. Louis lets him do it, and Harry’s heart soars.

“I’ve been trying to get up the courage to tell you for so long. God, I’m just…fully crazy about you.”

Louis takes a step towards him, lips parted in wonder. It’s happening. Finally.

“You’re perfect.”

And Louis recoils like he’s been burned.

“No.”

“No?” Harry repeats, trying to square Louis’s defiant, furious expression with the rest of their conversation.

“No, Harry.”

“I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

“Look at me!” He gestures at himself, expression hardening. “I’m hanging by a thread here. The last thing I need right now is one more set of expectations to live up to.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t need that from you. I’m not asking for anything.”

“I’m tired. I’m so exhausted trying to be perfect, you have no idea. The perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect employee. I don’t have it in me to be the perfect boyfriend, I really don’t.”

“I don’t expect you to…I don’t expect anything,” Harry flounders. How could it all have gone so wrong so quickly?

“You do, though,” Louis says, exasperated. “Maybe you don’t realize it, but you do. You know what my stepdad says to me every day when I leave for school? ‘Excel.’ Not ‘good luck,’ not ‘have fun.’ Because second best isn’t ever good enough. But I’m so burnt out, Harry. I’ve given everything I can. Sooner or later, I’m going to fail at something. And I can’t let it be this.”

“You can’t fail a relationship, Louis. All we have to do is just _be_ with each other. Just talk, hang out. Like we always do, right? You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I think it’s best if we just…forget this ever happened.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Harry stares him down. He feels for Louis, but he’s pissed off too. “I’m certainly not going to be able to forget that I’m in love with you.”

“Harry, stop,” Louis fists his hands into the bottom of his shirt, though he looks like he’d rather use them to cover his ears. “Just stop, please. You’re my best friend. We’re best friends. That’s all.”

He looks at Louis for one long, tense moment, daring him to walk that back.

“That’s bullshit,” he says finally. “And I think you know it.”

*****

“‘No body jewelry, and no visible tattoos,’” Zayn reads from the Music Town Code of Conduct James had passed out with great fanfare.

“Sounds like you’ll be wearing a hazmat suit to work, Malik,” Nick taunts. “Have you had yours dry-cleaned lately?”

“I’m not the only one in trouble. ‘Profanity and provocative language will not be tolerated.’ I give you half a day.”

Nick covers Zayn’s fist with his hand. “Let’s not fight. Let’s just rip.”

Harry watches them shred the documents to pieces with their fingers, cheered somewhat that this debacle is actually bringing some of them closer together. Anyway, everyone knows that Zayn doesn’t have a _real_ problem with Nick. He’s just aware that he and Liam went out on a date once, and intends to hold onto that memory forever.

The bell above the door chimes, though, for this arrival, a low gong might be more appropriate. Mr. Cowell struts back to the register, surveying his surroundings with disgust.

“Hey, sir,” Harry says, smirking mirthlessly. “Nice evening we’re having.”

“If you say so.”

“Nick,” Harry continues, unfazed. “Could you let James know our fearless leader has arrived?”

Nick clicks on the PA. “Empire Records would like to welcome Mr. Simon Cowell, who’d never let a pesky thing like a soul get in the way of running a business.”

“Cute,” Cowell says, narrowing his eyes at the boys behind the register.

Niall comes bounding out of the back, having been released from his punishment after a lengthy heart-to-heart with James that resulted in something of a plan.

“Mr. Cowell, isn’t that a _stunning_ tie?” Niall pinches the plain, maroon garment between his fingers, which, last Harry had seen, were covered in Cheeto dust.

“Unhand me, please. I have to speak to your manager.”

Niall looks wildly at Harry, who shrugs. There wasn’t much they could do to keep Simon from James once he was in the store.

“But have you seen what we just got in New Releases? There’s something for everyone. I wouldn’t mind personally curating an hour in the listening booth for you–”

“Get out of my _way.”_ Cowell brushes past him, straightening his tie. “You people. Strange, all of you.”

Harry, Niall, Nick, and Zayn follow Cowell into the backroom, trusting the “Back in Five” sign by the register to do its job.

They find Shawn, Liam, and James hovering over an adding machine and a sheet of paper.

“I have $300 at the apartment,” Liam says. “I was going to take Z on a trip, but we both want you to have it.”

“I sold a couple of batches of my extreme brownies at the gig last week. That’s about $80,” Shawn adds.

“What’s going on here?” Simon interrupts.

They all look up. Harry would bet anything that he’d expected them to stand.

“You know what? I don’t even want to know. I just need that signed contract.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, sir,” Liam says, for all the world sounding like he’s genuinely sorry about it.

“What do you have to do with it?”

“Bro,” Shawn stands and holds out his hand for Simon to shake, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re James’s new business partners.”

Simon ignores Shawn’s gesture. The latter shrugs and takes his seat again.

“James, I’m a very busy man, and–”

“Oh, I know that, Simon,” James says sweetly. “That’s why my lovely, _loyal_ employees were kind enough to step in and help with some of the high level running of the store.”

“Oh,” Harry jumps in. “I called my mom, and she has a bond in my name that should be worth around $600 now.”

“Another business partner,” James says. “Thank you, Harold.”

“My pleasure.”

“What _is_ this?” Cowell shouts. “Can someone reasonable please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“You see–” Niall starts.

 _“Not_ you,” Cowell practically roars.

“What’s going on is that I have almost enough money to buy you out,” James explains, rising and clapping a hand to Cowell’s shoulder. “And I know that you’ll sell the store to me instead of to Music Town because deep down inside that Grinchy heart of yours, you know you owe me for running it for you for all these years.”

“Do you now?”

James smiles, with blinding confidence. “I do. Either way, you won’t have to think about this place ever again. And if you make a deal with me, you can tell everyone around town what a good deed you did. No one would resent you, like they would if you put a blight on this community by bringing in a chain.”

“I’ve got $35 right here,” Nick says, pulling a small stack of bills out of his wallet and placing them in James’s hand.

“I only have a $20 on me right now,” Zayn adds. “But it’s yours.”

James ignores Simon’s sputtering, choosing instead to look around at his employees – his family – with affection and humility written all over his face. They haven’t won yet, but Harry feels hope for the first time since Louis walked back into the store and straight out the front door after his declaration. Even if Cowell wins. Even if Music Town paves over everything they love about this shabby record store. They banded together, and they fucking _tried._

 _Louis should be here,_ he thinks.

“My dad has all my savings,” a light, raspy voice rings from behind them. “But you can have my next paycheck. I’ll think of something to tell him.”

Harry looks past everyone else and drinks Louis in, searching for some change in him – some sign that his long walk convinced him of what Harry knows to be true. But he’s just leaning against the backdoor, lithe and lovely, staring back. That he doesn’t avoid his eyes, Harry takes as a good sign.

“Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” James asks, gently.

Louis doesn’t even blink. “He’ll have to be.”

“That’s extremely generous, Louis. I know you don’t have much to spare with college coming up.”

“It’s okay. This is important.”

James nods respectfully, then returns to his math.

“I’m sorry, am I _invisible?”_ Cowell whines.

“We all feel that way sometimes,” Niall pipes up. “’S completely normal, sir.”

 _“Shut. Up._ James, doesn’t it concern you that I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet?”

James doesn’t bother raising his gaze this time. “It doesn’t, no. Because I know you, and I know that your reputation is your weakness. So you will sell to me, but only if I can match the Music Town offer.”

“The deadline was today!”

James lifts his chin. “You and I both know that deadline came from you, not them.”

Cowell blanches ever so slightly. He’s good, but he’s not that good.

“And I haven’t signed a thing. They’ve surely closed for business for the day, so this right here? It’s between you and me, Simon.”

If Harry had a set of pom-poms handy, he’d be cheering James on as he stands to face Cowell, man to man. As it is, he lets his eyes dart over to Louis for half a second, who raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. At least they still have their admiration for their noble, rumpled boss in common.

“I’m a little short now, but I will get this money,” James states simply, “before the Music Town CEO is back at his desk tomorrow. And when I do, you’ll call off that deal, and I’ll buy the Empire, fair and square.”

Cowell chuckles, nostrils flaring unappealingly. “Fine. You know what? I’ll take that deal. If only because I’d really like to see you try. Seems like the tap’s run dry here.”

“Glad to hear it. Shawn?”

“On it, boss,” Shawn answers from James’s office, phone receiver pressed to his face. “Hello, ROCK 103? Am I live on air?” There’s a pause. “This is Shawn and the gang over at Empire Records.” Another pause, then Shawn starts speaking again at a hurried clip. “No, I don’t know last night’s Top 8 at 8, Chuck. But we’re having a huge party at the store tonight at 9 and we need your help to keep us from becoming just another Music Town. There’s gonna be live music and beer and it’s gonna be _awesome_ and everyone is welcome. Damn the man. Save the Empire!”

Shawn hangs up and looks to James for approval, hair wild and face open. He’s a good kid, and they all know it.

James claps his hands together once. “Alright. We’ve got a lot of work to do. And you–” He points at a stricken Cowell. “–don’t bother sticking around unless you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”

*****

There isn’t time to get a read on Louis, not when James has Harry trudging up and down from the basement, hauling cardboard displays from dead storage.

“Always wondered why he kept all this junk,” Harry says, setting a life-size standup of Whitesnake on the sales floor and slapping on the Sticky Note price tag Nick’s handed to him.

“I don’t know,” Nick muses, examining it. “I think they’re kind of sexy.”

“You think everyone’s sexy,” Zayn mutters as he carries in a clearance box of band t-shirts.

“Yes, and it makes life much more fun. Don’t worry though,” Nick boops him on the nose. “Liam only has eyes for you.” Zayn half-heartedly kicks at him when he walks away. _Progress,_ Harry thinks.

It’s been chaos for the last hour as they set up their spontaneous fire sale. On James’s orders, everything that’s not nailed down is up for grabs to whomever has the asking price. They can worry about replenishing their stock once the Empire’s future is secure.

The practically mint Whitesnake standee is just one example of the eclectic store of memorabilia and marketing tchotchkes that James has been collecting over the years, much of which predates all of their stints at the store and ought to appeal to anyone looking for something vintage. Jonas, Liam’s buddy at the beer distributor, didn’t have to be asked twice to donate a few kegs, which they’ll sell at $5 a cup. James has conspicuously avoided asking Shawn about the “special project” he has planned, which is probably for the best, legality-wise. Anyway, what’s the difference at this point? Harry’s certain they’ll be breaking several city ordinances with this stunt, for which they very much don’t have _a_ permit, let alone the many permits it probably requires. But there’s no way the threat of a few citations is going to put them off – besides, the Empire is a local institution. Even cops listen to music, right?

Harry cranes his neck to peer out the window where Louis is helping Niall unfold the card tables that Steve from the fire department just brought over in his pick-up. The door is shut, but Harry knows from memorizing his moods exactly what it sounds like when Louis giggles at something Niall said. There’s a little more spring in his step than there’d been right after the Music Town news was so unceremoniously dropped on them, and Harry understands why. It feels good to _act._ That they’re not taking this lying down. The world may see them as idiots. Screw-ups. Losers, even. But Harry has a sneaking suspicion that all of their flaws, all the ways in which they don’t fit in, are what make them the perfect group for this job. All his excuses for holding back from those other things he wants are fading into nothing.

Each of them needs a win, there’s no question. But Harry wants it the most for Louis, who deserves to know that what he does actually _matters._

Call him crazy. Call them _all_ crazy. But this might actually work.

An hour later, and Harry’s more confident than ever. The unfinished business with Louis weighs on him, but only in the background. They’d worked together seamlessly during setup, as if nothing had happened that afternoon, because that’s what the situation required. Harry won’t ignore the tension between them forever, however. They’ve just got to get through this first.

And then the whole town shows up, it seems. He can’t take two steps without running into someone he graduated from high school with, or one of his mom’s friends. The sidewalk and the section of Main in front of the store are teeming with people, many clutching discounted CDs and records in their hands, juggling them with Solo cups of frothy beer.

Shawn’s project hadn’t been what they’d all expected. Instead of bringing edibles to “discreetly” sell in the back alley, he’d brought the band on his t-shirt. Lost in Japan apparently couldn’t say no when their biggest fan asked for one _tiny_ emergency favor.

Everyone but Shawn was taken by surprise when four tattooed men in their late 20s climbed out of a van covered in bumper stickers and asked where to set up. Especially James.

“Shawn,” he’d said, drawing out his name. “What did you do?”

The smile dropped off of Shawn’s face, and he ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Just thought we needed some entertainment, to get people excited. I can ask them to go if–”

“Go on then,” James cut in, an amused smile spreading across his face. “Hey Anton, hey boys.” He shook each of their hands, then turned back to Shawn. “Better get them up on that sign if they’re going to start their set on time.”

Shawn lit up again, accepting handshakes and back slaps on his way to the fire escape. It had taken a small miracle to get their amps and other equipment up on the platform in front of the Empire Records logo, which was very much not designed for that purpose. But it was all worth it when the band’s lead guitarist hit the first chord like it was a battle cry. Instantly, their desperate bid for survival became a celebration of everything the Empire represents. And no one within a two-mile radius could ignore it.

“We’re so proud to be here,” Lost in Japan’s lead singer Anton announces after another of their shockingly not terrible, not punk or even fake-punk songs. “We all grew up on the Empire, and we need to stand against the corporate greed that’s killing art. We’re here for you, we’re here for Mr. James Corden–” On the ground, James raises his cup at the makeshift stage, looking a little teary-eyed. “–and we’re here for our friend Shawn, who’s the real fucking deal. Shawn, why don’t you join us for this next one?”

Harry joins the rest of the gang in whooping up a storm, cheering Shawn on as he trips from his PA-post at the side of the stage to stand right next to Anton. When Khalid hands him an acoustic guitar, it’s like Shawn’s being handed a Nobel Peace Prize. He looks down at it reverently, his expression shifting from shock to pure joy when he gazes back out at the crowd and down at his friends.

“Take the lead, Shawn,” Anton says. “This one’s all you.”

“GO SHAWN,” Harry screams, heart swelling with pride. Nick, Niall, Liam, Louis, and even Zayn follow his lead, shouting encouragements up at their friend.

“I know I haven’t worked here very long, but, um, you guys are my family,” Shawn says into the microphone. “This one’s for you.”

He takes a deep breath then starts picking at the guitar strings expertly. Without thinking, Harry looks for Louis, and their eyes meet.

“Wow,” Louis mouths. Harry grins in response. What _is_ with today, today?

“I wanna follow where she goes,” Shawn croons into the microphone, a little unsurely. “I think about her and she knows it.”

They all dance like maniacs, jumping around and bumping into each other as Shawn gains confidence, hitting the ridiculously catchy chorus with gusto and skill.

“There’s nothing holding me back,” they start shouting back at him by the second go-round. “There’s nothing holding me back!”

The whole situation is emotionally overwhelming, in the best way. It’s just one song in a rooftop concert in the middle of Nowhere, America, but it’s Shawn’s dream come true. Music Town may be an unstoppable behemoth, but it looks like they’re going to be able to save one independent store – theirs – from its clutches. As he watches Shawn throw himself completely into the song, Harry thinks about how much they all have to offer, even if they don’t quite fit the mainstream. Instead of comparing himself to some nonexistent, perfect version of who Harry Styles _might_ be, he could just be the best version of himself. And no one draws that version out as effortlessly as Louis Tomlinson.

The crowd goes wild when the song ends. Harry’s pretty sure he even saw a few girls sitting in a flatbed flash the band. Anton hugs Shawn, pounding his fist on his back a couple of times. Then James is standing between them, and Anton steps back so he can have his mic.

“Lost in Japan, ladies and gentleman!” James claps Shawn on the back and ruffles his hair. “With Empire Records’ own Shawn Mendes.”

“Thank you all for coming out,” he continues, sincerely. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have your support. This community is my home. The Empire is my home. And as Shawn just said, we’re a family. We consider you family too, and we had wanted very much to keep being your music store for years to come.”

Harry senses an announcement coming on, and his blood pressure starts to rise. He feels someone lace their fingers through his. And he can’t immediately tell if it means anything, because Louis is resolutely staring up at the stage. He squeezes Louis’s hand, and holds his breath.

“I’m pleased to announce that we’ve surpassed our fundraising goal, thanks to all of you,” James continues. “And I’ve just been informed that our majority owner _will_ be selling the store to me.”

Harry whips his head around and sees Cowell, who’d disappeared for a while, standing alone and silent a few feet behind them.

“You rallied, and you saved Empire Records. I’ll be indebted to all of you, especially my team, forever. Damn the man!”

Shawn runs out of patience and pulls James in for a fierce, sweaty embrace. On the ground, the crowd explodes. His coworkers crush into each other for a group hug, and Harry loses hold of Louis’s hand in the process. Lost in Japan launches into their next song, and the mood of the party changes entirely. Someone arrives with more kegs, the local pizza shop drops off a leaning tower of white boxes, and the only police officers in the vicinity are just looking on, ready to interfere if anyone needs help or a fight breaks out. Harry smiles to himself when he sees Zayn – _Zayn –_ grasp Liam’s collar and pull him in for a deep, passionate kiss, oblivious to the hundreds of people around. But a distant pang of jealousy follows after, and he suddenly feels lost without any arms to fall into.

“Harold,” Niall interrupts his thoughts. “Your chalice.” He hands Harry one of the Solo cups he’s holding, then clunks them together.

“How the hell did we pull this off?” Harry muses.

“Because we are kings among men.”

“Ah,” Harry says, then takes a sip. “How could I forget?”

“I don’t know,” Niall says, taking Harry’s words at face value. “But I’ll always be here to remind you.”

“You are _so_ weird,” Harry says, taking effort to imbue his words with all the fondness he feels. “Seriously, though. We all have jobs. James got his store. Mr. Cowell’s out of our lives forever. Shawn can shred on the guitar?! Three hours ago, we were a disaster, and now…I mean, it’s perfect.”

“Not entirely perfect,” Niall says with a knowing smirk. “But it could be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that someone is waiting for you on the roof.”

*****

When Harry reaches the top of the fire escape, he sees him. Louis is sitting alone on one of the rusty folding chairs they keep up there for breaks, bathed in the muted glow of the back of the sign. The amps are facing out towards the street, so it’s quieter up here. After the mad dash of the last few hours, it’s a shock to the system. His ears ring to make up for the noise they’d become accustomed to, which only makes this moment feel more like a dream.

Louis doesn’t say anything as he draws closer, just stands up and watches Harry approach, a soft, not-quite smile playing on his face. Harry tries to focus on how stunning he is and not on the fact that Louis might be about to break his heart.

“Hi,” he says, when he’s right in front of him.

“Hello,” Louis answers. “Big day.”

“The biggest.”

“The kind of day that makes you rethink some things.”

“Really?” Hope asserts itself in Harry’s heart. He unsuccessfully wills himself to rein it in.

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I’m my own person, no matter how controlling my stepdad is,” Louis says with conviction. “And there will always be parts of me that he can’t touch.”

“That’s good, Louis. That’s really good, and so true.”

“Thanks,” he says. “You helped me get there.”

His sweater is slipping off of his shoulder, and Harry can’t decide if he wants to reach out and fix it or plant a kiss right on the exposed skin.

“I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’ve been so focused on getting everything right that I got something really important wrong,” Louis continues, shaking Harry out of that thought.

“What’s that?”

“So...I’ve got this best friend, and he has more talent in his little finger than other people have in their entire bodies. He’s always accepted me for exactly who I am, neuroses and all. He’s loyal to a fault, like, he’s so loyal that he lets everyone else go in front of him. And sometimes I think that he doesn’t even know that he’s worthy — of everything. And sometimes that makes me angry, because _I_ do.”

“Louis, I–”

“He’s also beautiful,” Louis interrupts. “So beautiful that it doesn’t even make sense. So beautiful that nobody else even comes close, so you might as well just push those feelings away and wait.”

Harry takes a step towards him, mouth open to speak again – of what, he’s not sure yet. But he’d had no idea that he was affecting Louis as much as Louis was affecting him. It challenges every excuse he ever made to avoid opening up.

“But when he told me how he felt, I wasn’t ready to hear it, and I blew up at him,” Louis bravely goes on. “And I’m so sorry. I took things that had nothing to do with us out on you.”

Somehow, Harry locates his voice again.

“Lou, I’m so sorry. When I said you were perfect, I meant that I love everything about you – even the stuff I don’t really like, like when you take the last chocolate cake donut or get all annoying and sulky when you have a bad debate practice. It’s all you. But it was clumsy and it put pressure on you, which isn’t fair because I know that you feel trapped by other people’s expectations sometimes. And I know that there’s so much more of you, things I haven’t seen yet. But I hope you’ll show me. Because all I want to do is tell you everything.”

“I want to tell _you_ everything,” Louis whispers. “Can we start now?”

He cups Harry’s jaw with his hand and pulls him closer. Harry comes willingly, until he can feel Louis’s breath ghosting over his lips and smell his cherry Chapstick.

“Are you sure?” Harry breathes. “Like, really sure? Because I can’t just kiss you once and move on with my life.”

“I’m going to kiss you so much, you’ll get sick of it,” Louis says, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’ll go on strike. You’ll have to move to a deserted island.”

“Shut the fuck up, Louis,” Harry laughs, lowly. And then they’re kissing.

He brings his palms to rest on either side of Louis’s face, thumbing along sharp cheekbones covered by supple skin. They trade soft, luxuriant kisses at first, reveling in this new stage of their relationship, which seemed so improbable just hours before.

Harry sucks the cherry flavoring from Louis’s pink lips until there’s only him left, and that seems like reason enough to get a deeper taste. When he opens his mouth and licks at the seam of Louis’s, Louis hums with pleasure and it teases goosebumps out of the flesh on Harry’s arms. Harry encircles Louis’s waist, and Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck as their tongues meet, and not even the dim orange light of the Empire Records sign can get between them.

Maybe they should talk more about this, Harry tries to consider. Maybe they should go to their respective corners until their need subsides and they can be reasonable. The only trouble is that he’s fairly certain his won’t, no matter how much distance they put between them. And anyway, they’ve waited long enough.

Ignoring the block party that’s raging on three stories below them, Harry and Louis’s hands go to all the places they’d deliberately avoided before. Louis’s fingers drop to Harry’s waist, untying his flannel and letting it drop to the ground. Harry gasps against his open mouth when Louis’s palms skate underneath his shirt, finding his two most prominent nipples.

“Are you sure we should–” he pants. “Someone could come up here.”

“Niall is under strict orders to enforce that the roof is off limits,” Louis explains, rolling the pebble of one of Harry’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “And the band’s playing for at least another 20 minutes…”

Harry rakes his fingernails up Louis’s back, relishing the way he shivers. “So no one can hear us.”

“It’s just you and me.”

Louis looks at him hungrily, then captures his lips again. Harry’s muscles are starting to go lax with it, so he carefully walks them back to the locked fire door until his own back is fully pressed up against it. He divests Louis of his sweater, then pulls back so he can stare at him. He’s seen Louis without a shirt on before, but never in this state, his muscles taut and nipples hard, a pink flush decorating his neck. Before Harry can tell him how gorgeous he is, overwhelmingly so, Louis dips his hand back down to the top of Harry’s jeans, then drops it lower, closing over his denim-covered cock and lightly squeezing. He hums from the back of his throat, and Harry’s pleased to realize that Louis likes what he’s found.

Another day, he’ll take the lead. But Louis is the younger of the two, and if Harry’s knowledge of his dating experience is to be believed, the less experienced. So Harry’s content to yield control and let Louis take what he wants.

It’s unlikely that he’ll regret it; he doesn’t now as Louis replaces his hand with his thigh, pressing it in between Harry’s legs and rolling their lower bodies together. It takes every ounce of Harry’s control not to grab Louis’s perfect ass, pull him in harder, and keep him there, but he resists, settling for gripping his naked lower back with both hands. (Okay, so one of his pinky fingers may have gone roaming below Louis’s waistband, whatever. He doesn’t seem to mind.)

“Harry, please,” Louis whines against his ear. “Touch me.”

It’s embarrassing, that that’s enough to make Harry groan. Or it would be, if that were an emotion he’d even bother with right now.

Harry ducks down and kisses him again, sucking Louis’s tongue into his mouth. Louis takes one of Harry’s hands from his lower back and guides it to the bulge that’s straining against his fly.

“Have you done this before?” Harry asks, slowly popping the button at the top and guiding the zipper down, giving Louis ample time to make a choice.

Louis glances at the ground, suddenly shy again. Harry tries to count his eyelashes while he waits for his response.

“There hasn’t been much time, with everything. But I’m glad it’s you,” he says finally, gazing back up at him. “Wanted it to be you.”

Words won’t suffice, so Harry lifts Louis’s hand to his mouth, kisses each of his fingers, and wonders how he got so lucky.

“Want to do everything with you,” Louis clarifies.

Harry doesn’t kiss him again yet. He’d rather see Louis’s face when he reaches into his boxer briefs and wraps his hand around his cock.

It’s worth it. His head drops back and his mouth drops open into a pretty little ‘o,’ so Harry grins as he strokes him. Louis braces one hand on the door behind Harry, and Harry takes that as a signal to pick up speed.

He uses his other hand to push Louis’s skinny pants and boxers down under his ass. Harry wishes futilely for lube, but fortunately, Louis is eager and wet, the pre-come dotting the tip of his dick enough to get a good slide going.

“Fuck,” Louis grits out, and kisses Harry filthily. He’d wanted to see other shades of the boy he loves, and he got it. Seeing Louis let go and chase his own pleasure is apparently a major turn on, and he doubts it’ll ever lose its novelty.

Harry expertly tugs his cock few more times, taking note of what Louis likes. Then he slides the index finger of his other hand in between Louis’s cheeks, presses the pad of that finger lightly against his hole, and Louis comes with a cry that will remain just between them, thanks to Lost in Japan – in Harry’s current estimation, the greatest band on the planet.

Louis rests his forehead on Harry’s chest while he comes down, and Harry caresses him through it until a wince indicates that the sensitivity’s become too much to bear.

“I can’t believe,” Louis pants. “Instead of AP Calculus, I could have been doing this.”

And Harry laughs, sharp and loud.

Louis stays where he is and breathes a few more moments, and Harry remains as still as he can, even though his own cock is pulsing in his jeans, in utter agony since he now has the valuable knowledge what Louis looks like when Harry’s getting him off.

“You don’t have to,” he says when Louis comes back to life and starts to work at his fly. “I can take care of it.”

He looks at Harry in the same scolding way he does when he’s late for a shift.

Ignoring Harry, Louis shoves his pants and underwear down together, failing to control his expression when Harry’s cock springs free.

“Jesus, Harry.”

Harry smirks, but it drops off of his face just as quickly when Louis glides his hand over his own soft dick until his palm is coated in come. He takes hold of Harry’s length and starts to move, twisting his hand up and down, keeping his eyes locked on Harry.

Not that Harry’s a player or anything, but he’s dated a few guys, and he flatters himself that he knows what he’s doing. Still, he decides here and now that technique is no match for passion. Louis, who’s basically been locked in a tower for what should have been his years to experiment, has him coming out of his skin. Harry’s never been with someone he cares about _this_ much – someone who could make a quickie hand job on a rooftop feel like a grand romantic gesture.

That’s weird to say to the guy who’s holding your cock, so Harry fists his hand in Louis’s hair instead.

“Am I...is this good?”

There’s no time to reassure him verbally before Harry’s spurting come into Louis’s grip and letting out a wrecked sigh.

As soon as he comes back to himself, he retrieves his flannel off the ground and cleans them both up as best he can. Neither of them says a word as Harry puts Louis gently back into his pants and tugs his sweater back over his head, then makes himself (debatably) presentable.

“Sorry about your shirt,” Louis breaks the silence, looking adorably serious.

Harry hugs Louis to him, kissing into his hair over and over again. He slides down the door, supporting Louis all the way, until he’s comfortably straddling Harry’s lap. Louis lets his forehead drop onto Harry’s and rest there.

“For the record,” Harry murmurs. “It was _very_ good.”

Louis laughs breathily, one of Harry’s favorite sounds.

“Figures,” he says. “You always made me feel like I could do anything.”

Harry bites down on his smile. “Overachiever.”

Louis juts his chin forward to connect their lips again, lingering as long as he pleases.

“You’ll come see me in New York, right?” he says after they break apart. “I know it’s not cheap, but maybe James will be able to give you an advance or something.”

“Lou, can I say something?”

Louis’s face falls. “It’s too fast. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, no,” Harry rubs his hands up and down Louis’s arms. “God, are you kidding me? I’ve been driving everyone we work with crazy for the past _two years.”_

“This whole–" Louis bites his lip, processing the information. “You've had feelings for me this whole time?”

“Yes. So tell me if I’m crazy, and I’ll absolutely back off,” Harry says slowly. “But there are a lot of art schools in New York City…”

A beaming smile overtakes Louis’s face and he launches himself at Harry, toppling them over onto their sides. He throws a leg over Harry’s thigh and holds on tighter, neither of them caring about what the cement is doing to their already destroyed clothes.

“I’ll take that to mean you don’t have a problem with me applying,” Harry laughs.

“God, Harry, can you imagine? You and me in New York? We could get an apartment. Zayn and Liam and Niall and everybody could visit. We’d go see shows every weekend.” He gets lost thinking about it, mentally constructing their big city life.

“You’re not scared?” Harry asks quietly.

“Of course I’m scared,” Louis brushes his fingers across Harry’s brow. “But it’s time to go. Living in this town forever, it’s great for some people. But I don’t think that’s you or me. Anyway, we’ll be braver together.”

“Braver together,” Harry repeats. “That sounds like us.”

Louis rolls off of him until they’re both lying flat on their backs, holding hands and looking up at the stars. Over the sounds of Lost in Japan disconnecting their equipment, Harry hears their friends and neighbors saying their goodbyes, their shared success making them feel ecstatic and hopeful – maybe even a little bit inspired. He and Louis will have to climb down eventually and face the rest of their lives – not to mention come up with some innocent explanation for the state of themselves – but suddenly Harry can make out more possibilities than reasons everything might go wrong. And no matter where he ends up, part of him will always be inextricably tied to this rundown record store – a relic of a dying era – and the integrity of the people who fought so hard to keep it alive.

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't comment and leave kudos, it's like you're RUINING KIM'S BIRTHDAY.
> 
> Please consider reblogging the [Tumblr post!](http://a-brighter-yellow.tumblr.com/post/181231565718/sometimes-fires-dont-go-out-by-abrighteryellow)


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